The legends say,

that in the fifth month,

the month of Shadow,

no moons are visible,

and thus no gods can see the atrocities that might occur.

However.

The darkkin know a different legend,

honor a different god,

He who was born First,

and brought the month of shadows with him.

And the dark places and Shadows,

are his.

- From Scriptures of Shadow

250 PSRT, First Solria of Shadow

The sloping sides of Mt. Magrendeth are still and quiet, not wholly unexpected in the dim glow of the active volcano. However, this volcano that normally burbled all the way to the top seemed to have given way to the solemnity of the night. For on this particular moonless night, even the molten heart of the caldera seems to have receded and given way to the shadows that fill the land. Tension blankets the land, feeling as though it might snap at the slightest pressure or sudden movement. 

A pair of silhouettes bound past a small river of fire, followed closely by twin lupine figures. The four dashed through the trees, barely a rustle of leaves mark their passing, and continued down the mountain. Few would know their passage to be the mad sprint for safety that it was. A few hundred meters behind them, the howl of a wolf can be heard, the baying call to chase down fleeing prey. Those four beings, the targets of said pursuit, redoubled their efforts to sprint through the woods.

"They've caught us." A feminine voice, light and lilting, hoarse and strained.

"Not yet. River's ahead." Masculine this time, gruff and low, breathless and tired. Both put their heads down and press onward, Temoor's plodding stride shaking the earth with each step he takes. Melvi follows close by him, her pace fluid yet strained, held back to keep apace. Their bonded furies move up next to them: Temoor's of stone and earth, Melvi's of water. These elemental beings have assumed lupine forms, and lope along next to their bonded with similar strides.

"Melvi, Boulder-Rolled says Temoor is almost at his limit." The voice of Melvi's fury bubbles and trickles it's way through her mind, bringing with it a cooling sensation. The simple fluctuations always manages to remind Melvi of a gentle river, bubbling it's way downstream, lapping at it's banks. For a moment, Melvi drifts back to when she first met her fury, on the banks of the very river they now race towards, albeit far downstream from where they are now.

"I've noticed, Burbling-Stream. Can you sense the river yet?" Melvi responded in kind, saving her breath for running. She thought her question in vain, and was surprised with a different answer.

"Yes, Melvi, it's getting closer now. But Boulder-Rolled says he can feel the hounds-from-shadow getting closer."

Burbling-Stream's range to feel bodies of water was only slightly keener than Melvi's own. Her best estimation would put it just outside her own range, some two thousand meters. She reached out and pressed a hand to her partner's back, letting the refreshing nature of water pour into Temoor as they ran. His stride became slightly less ragged, and his breathing smoothed some. "A little farther, my love. Burbling-Stream can sense the river now." A singular nod from Temoor, all his focus on eating up the distance. The pair with their bonded furies continue their flight into the night, the howls continuing to chase them, closing in.

After what felt like hours to the pursued, they break free of the treeline, and in the distance, they can see the inky blackness that is the river. A small dingy awaits them, almost unseen from where they are.The group picks up their pace once more, the sight of their destination bringing with it a second wind. The night has gone still, the rushing of the river growing louder as they get closer and closer to it's banks, but the rest of the noises have disappeared. Boulder-Rolled is the first to sense the danger.

"Scatter!" Boulder-Rolled's gravelly voice resonates in everyone's head, his urgency causing them to separate from each other, so only one of them was caught as the earth tore itself asunder, molten rock and ash rocketing into the sky. Burbling-Stream evaporated as the font of lava eclipsed her aquatic form, the ensuing blast of steam shoved Melvi, who was closest, to the ground. In an attempt to stand once again, Melvi stumbled to a knee as physical pain wracked her. The death of her fury ripped it's presence from her very soul. She felt as if something was missing that had always been there, and her vision faded around the edges, darkness threatening to overtake her.

"Interesting, most who's fury I've killed don't live, let alone stay conscious." A voice, soft and velvety, out of place next to the subsiding lava. In the orange glow from the river of flame pouring from the earth like an oozing wound, Melvi can see a woman. Her tall form seems to tower over Melvi from where she kneels, but her slenderness did little to block the scorching heat from her entrance.  All her other details are lost in a blur, as Melvi's eyes focus on one thing: The cracked cinnabar star pinned to the woman's chest.

"God-spurned." Melvi spit the name at the woman, who sighed, as if utterly bored all of a sudden.

"I think I prefer it when they die right away." The woman reaches out and brushes a hand along Melvi's cheek. Where her hand passes, Melvi decays, spreading rapidly and eventually withering Melvi to dust on the spot. The woman turned to face Temoor, who's stony face is betrayed only by the tears that streamed down his face.

"Herald of Corruption, why are you here? Killing us has no meaning, many more still resist you and your influence." Temoor's voice is surprisingly steady, his stance relaxed. Boulder-Rolled is nowhere to be seen.

"'Why?' What a funny question one would ask me, at this juncture. Why indeed? 'Because I can.' That was an answer I glimpsed from the Greater Will once. Not very satisfying though, is it?" She walks closer to him, closing the distance with calm measured steps, a predator that knows it's prey has no where left to run. Around her spread large wolves, pitch black fur interrupted by spurs of bone jutting from their backs and joints, bone plates protruding from their cheeks and brows like an exoskeleton. Temoor's already pale face drained further, his emerald orbs widened as he recognized the creatures: Dire shadow wolves. His eyes close for a second as he takes a deep breath to steady himself, his stance widening slightly.

"Aye, you would use those sworn to Him against each other. You, who led even a god into corruption." Temoor's voice steadies and he looks past the woman, gaze seeking amongst the wolves. They settle upon one, and as they lock eyes, a sigh escapes Temoor, relief at finding the proof to his words. They woman seems to not notice, glancing to either side at the wolves herself, pausing in her stride as she does so.

"Oh, these? You think them sworn to... Him?" Her voice twists with disgust as she says the word 'him', as if it was the most revolting thing possible. "The 'Lord of Shadows', that puppet to the Greater Will?" She glances around them, as if looking for someone else. "Your faith in him is so great, where could he be?" A bark of laughter, as the woman's madness begins to peek through. Her hand shoots to point straight up into the sky full of stars, and her next words are mocking, full of mirth "He hides in the heavens, disappearing from even your sight for a month every year! He claims space on the moon of the dancing goddess, while not having one himself, and yet you fools still venerate him as the wisest and most powerful of all the gods. Once I ascend-"

"You can't." Simple words from the elvish darkkin, calm and assured. "Even we darkkin, if our deeds become great enough to catch the Shadowed Lord's attention, can only hope to become demigods at most, granted new powers as a splinter of an Origin god's power. You, a herald meant to shepherd gods to greatness, cannot obtain even that status."

"Tch, if I wanted to hear rapture from the Umbrandt Parity, I would have listened to the Greater Will like a good little puppet." She waves her hand idly, and a beam of utter darkness streaks from it, lancing into Temoor, his face twists ever so slightly in pain, before he too fades into dust. The gravelly howl of a lone wolf pierces the night, several hundred meters down stream from where the woman stands. One of the dire wolves moves up next to the woman.

"Your orders, Lady Yel?" The woman turns and strikes the wolf, knocking his burly frame to the ground despite her slender appearance.

"I told your disgusting kind to keep out of my mind, and act like the beasts you are." Yel's eyes dart down river, becoming unfocused for a moment as if seeing something far off. "The earth fury won't make it back to Meg'delev. There's no point in chasing after it." She turns and leaves, stepping into and being enveloped by shadows before her form disappears completely. The wolves gather around the fallen one, helping him to his feet again before they too head into the shadows. The last one through, the one Yel had knocked to the ground, turns to look down river.

"Stay steady, my little earth cousin. Your mission was not in vain. The corrupted herald will be stopped."

250 PSRT, Second Torman of Shadow

15 year-old darkkin Sacelia wept silently as her parents are pronounced dead by the council. The final reports from Boulder-Rolled let the council know what had happened on the mountainside. The shadow-beast wolves had caught them, and killed both the darkkin, before setting upon the bodies and devouring them. Burbling-Stream was immediately slain by the death of Melvi, and even Boulder-Rolled eventually succumbed after the death of Temoor. Whispers float around the crowd as the council continues their speech, rumors of how the reports from Boulder-Rolled were spotty, not dissimilar to reports from fevered scouts on their deathbeds.

Sacelia barely listens to those around her, numb, her elvish ears picking up more than she wished to hear. Her parents were gone. Not just the gone from the house for a few days for work, but gone and not coming home. They promised to only be gone a few days, a week at most. Boulder-Rolled had limped back after 6 days. The sturdy rock wolf had held on until he could give his final report, but with his death her whole family was gone. She hadn't even gotten to see him, as cloistered as the council had kept him.

A terrible darkness welled up inside her, suffused with hate and anger. Yet she shoved that darkness aside, unwilling to deal with those feelings, even as sadness washed over her again, and she choked on the sobs she could no longer hold back. Her vision went blurry, covered by tears, as arms wrapped around her and she was pulled into an embrace by another elvish darkkin. Her childhood friend, Cantilia, wiped away her tears with her sleeve, before leading her away from the masses still listening to the elders drone on.

After several minutes of walking, the sounds of the crowd finally faded into the distance. It was then that Sacelia realized her companion was talking to her.

"... and I don't care what the others think, you should be taken care of, given more hope than just 'they died a heroes death, doing heroes work,'" Cantilia dropped her voice low, in a mockery of the elders, sounding strange coming from the 2 years older darkkin. Unable to help herself in her current state, Sacelia giggled. Her face immediately fell, ashamed to have laughed on the day her parents' death was confirmed. She buried her face in the older girls shirt, beginning to sob again. Cantilia pulled her off the street they had been walking down, and held the girl as she cried.

"Come on, let's get you home, and some food in you. Perhaps some warmth too, although maybe I can help with that now. Fire-Feather?" She raised an arm, and a bird of pure fire swooped down and landed. It nuzzled her cheek with it's beak, before turning and hopping onto Sacelia's shoulder. A soothing warmth flowed over the girl, gently calming her. The bird itself was nearly weightless, and did not throw off the heat one might expect for a being of fire, not even a singe on it's impromptu perch. The fire fury began to crackle softly, the sound of a banked fire on a cold night.

Cantilia nodded approvingly at the small bird-like fury, and gave Sacelia a peck on the nose herself, before turning and leading the girl to her own home. Cantilia held her hand the whole way, as they wove down they side streets of Meg'delev to get there.